Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

Thomas had been thinking of Sylvia for weeks, and he knew what he was about to do was the most selfish thing he had ever done.

Unfortunately, he did not feel guilty enough to stop himself.

That, perhaps, said something terrible about him.

Sylvia stood in front of him now, talking about the wedding finally being over as if she had personally survived a military siege and not an imperial ceremony.

”I can breathe again,” she said, one hand pressed against her chest as if checking that her lungs had not resigned during the vows. ”I thought I would die somewhere between the third wave of representatives and that old countess saying Dean looked too ruling for someone meant to be submissive to the Crown Prince.”

Thomas’s eyes sharpened. ”Who said that?”

Sylvia paused.

Then narrowed her eyes at him. ”No.”

”I only asked.”

”You asked like a commander preparing a casualty report.”

”She insulted the consort.”

”She breathed near treason and bad taste, yes, but I already decided she will die socially.”

Thomas looked at her for a moment.

Sylvia barely reached his chest, even in high-heeled shoes, and yet she stood there widely gesticulating about noble insanity as if the entire imperial gala were merely an inconvenience friendship had forced her to tolerate.

She was so beautiful.

The thought struck him.

Her brown hair had been arranged elegantly for the wedding, though several loose strands had already escaped near her cheek. Her formal dress was softer than the court ladies around them wore and less ostentatious, but it suited her, nothing loud enough to compete with the sharpness in her eyes or the way she forgot to be nervous when she was angry on behalf of someone she loved.

Thomas had seen soldiers stand before beasts with less conviction than Sylvia had shown toward that unnamed countess.

He should have backed off, let this go, because he knew what he was, and exactly what she was trying to do.

Sylvia was building a life that did not depend on someone else’s desire. She had been lifted too quickly, placed too close to power, and turned from a civilian into a future secretary to a consort who had just married into an imperial crown. She was still learning which corridors could destroy her and which smiles hid knives.

And Thomas...

Thomas was not a promise he could safely offer.

He had duties. Blood. Rank. A life already molded by command and politics. He belonged to the systems that ate up softness first and only asked questions if scandal followed.

He had no right to ask her for anything.

Not when she had already tried, with admirable discipline and obvious suffering, to put distance between them.

Not when both of them knew whatever this was could not be simple nor permanent.

But he had been watching her all evening.

Watching her try not to look at him.

Watching her fail.

Watching himself become worse because of it.

Sylvia stopped mid-rant and looked up at him. ”Why are you staring?”

Thomas should have lied.

He was very good at lying politely.

Instead, he said, ”Because I missed you.”

Sylvia’s mouth closed.

The words settled between them with more force than they should have.

Around them, the gala continued in gold light and controlled music, representatives smiling over glasses, royal guards positioned beneath balconies, foreign delegations pretending not to observe every movement within reach. Dean and Arion had not yet returned from changing. Lucas was speaking to Minerva. Trevor looked like he was counting possible threats by instinct alone. Dax of Saha laughed somewhere near the far side of the room, which was alarming on principle.

Sylvia looked at none of it.

She looked at Thomas.

”That is unfair,” she said quietly.

”I know.”

”You know, and you still said it?”

”Yes.”

Her eyes softened for half a second before she forced them sharp again. ”That makes it worse.”

”It does.”

”Thomas.”

He loved the way she said his name when she was trying to sound severe and failing because she was too honest to hide the tremor under it.

He hated himself for noticing.

”I want to ask you something,” he said.

”No.”

He blinked.

Sylvia lifted a finger. ”I do not know what it is yet, but no.”

”That is very efficient.”

”I have learned from Dean.”

”That explains the aggression.”

”It explains my survival.”

Thomas smiled.

Then he sobered, because if he smiled too much, if he made this light, she might think he did not understand the cost.

And he did.

He understood it too well.

”That night,” he said, lower now, ”when you told me this might fade, I listened.”

Sylvia went very still.

”I listened because you deserved that respect. Because you were trying to be sensible. Because you were trying to protect yourself from a situation that could hurt you.”

Her fingers curled slightly against her skirt.

Thomas continued before he could become noble enough to stop.

”I have thought about it since then. More than I should have. I thought that if I gave you distance, if I gave myself discipline, it would become easier.”

Sylvia’s voice was barely above a whisper. ”Did it?”

”No.”

Her breath caught.

Thomas stepped no closer.

He would not crowd her.

He would not make his size, his rank, or his feelings another pressure she had to survive.

”I am not asking you for forever,” he said. ”I would not insult you by pretending I can give you something that simple. We both know what my life is. We both know what your life is becoming. We both know this may be temporary.”

Sylvia looked down.

That hurt more than he expected.

Then she looked back up, and there was something wounded in her face now, but not weak.

”Then why ask?”

’Because I am selfish.’

’Because I have thought about your smile for weeks.’

’Because every time you step away, I let you, and every time I regret being honorable enough to do it.’

’Because temporary does not mean meaningless.’

’Because I want one chance to know whether this ache is a warning or the beginning of something I will regret not touching for the rest of my life.’

Thomas said only, ”Because I want a chance.”

Sylvia stared at him.

”A chance,” she repeated.

”Yes.”

”At what?”

”At dinner. Coffee. A walk where no one needs us for ten minutes. Anything you are willing to give.”

Her laugh came out soft and disbelieving. ”That sounds very small for a man who looks like he is asking me to step into war.”

”To me, it does not feel small.”

That silenced her.

Thomas held her gaze.

”I want to take you on a date, Sylvia. Properly. Not pretending I do not see you looking at me when you think I will not see.”

Her face flushed.

”I was not...”

”You were.”

”You are very arrogant.”

”Yes.”

Her mouth trembled.

For a moment, she looked almost young. Not childish, never that, but caught between wanting and knowing better, between the ordinary girl she had once been and the woman being shaped by proximity to crowns.

”This could hurt,” she said.

”I know.”

”It could end badly.”

”Yes.”

”It could be temporary.”

Thomas’s chest tightened.

”Yes.”

Sylvia looked away, toward the ballroom where Dean’s place waited near Arion’s, where futures were being built in public by people reckless enough to vow themselves into history.

Then she looked back at him.

”And if I say yes?”

Thomas breathed in slowly.

”Then I will be grateful.”

Her brows lifted. ”Grateful?”

”And careful.”

”That sounds boring.”

”It will not be.”

She made the mistake of smiling.

Thomas felt something in him give way with such quiet finality that he knew, if this destroyed him later, he would still choose this exact second again.

Sylvia noticed, and her smile faded into something softer, more afraid.

”Thomas...”

”I know,” he said.

She shook her head once. ”No. You do not. I am trying very hard to be sensible.”

”I know that too.”

”And you are making it difficult.”

”I am sorry.”

”You are not.”

”No,” he admitted. ”Not enough.”

For one long moment, Sylvia simply looked at him.

Then she sighed as if she had personally lost a battle against fate, poor judgment, and a very tall man in formal military attire.

”One date,” she said.

Thomas went still.

Sylvia pointed at him immediately. ”Do not look like that.”

”Like what?”

”Like I handed you a kingdom.”

He did not say that she had.

He had some survival instincts left.

”One date,” she repeated. ”And we are both aware that this may be temporary.”

”Yes.”

”And you will not be strange about it if I decide it is better to stop.”

Thomas did not like the pain that came with that condition.

He accepted it anyway.

”I will respect your decision.”

Sylvia studied him.

”Even if you hate it?”

”Especially then.”

Her expression changed.

”Fine,” she said softly. ”Then one date.”

Thomas inclined his head, because if he did anything else, he was not entirely certain he would not reach for her hand in the middle of an imperial gala where half the room had opinions and the other half had spies.

”Thank you.”